


Dryads!

by Visinata



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: 8th year AU, Confused Simon, Gen, Karma Chameleon, Mostly Cannon Compliant, Scones, Simon and Baz in their tower room, Tired vampire, Wavering Wood, dryad, scone love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2018-06-01
Packaged: 2018-10-07 01:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10349175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Visinata/pseuds/Visinata
Summary: Baz returns to Watford tired and hungry and in need of some blood. When he heads out to the Wavering Wood he encounters the same dryad that spoke with Simon, and they have a little chat. Baz's chat with the Dryad influences some decisions he makes when he finds Simon in their room.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've done minimal editing, so I apologize if you find typos or things that don't make sense. I'll try to clean it up at some point soonish.
> 
> This scene takes place after Baz returns to Watford, and before he and Simon see each other for the first time back in their room. It's almost entirely canon compliant, except Baz goes for his "snack" at a different time & place than he does in Carry On.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just doing a little overdue proofreading. Hoping to figure out how to end this thing and get that last chapter up soonish too...

I’m a wreck. All I really want is to climb into bed, but I have to feed. After the Crowley forsaken plastic cups of coagulated slop I’ve been surviving on (if you can call it that) I’m almost looking forward to the taste of fresh blood.

It’s the catacombs or the woods. If I’m outside the moat too late I’ll have a hard time getting back into the castle, particularly with my magic at such a low ebb. But I don’t think I can stomach being in the dark right now. It’s going to take some time before I’ll willingly close myself up underground again. Sorry Mother. The Wavering Wood it is.

As my foot falls onto the dried leaves at the Wood’s edge, a dryad emerges from behind a tree. Her skin is like bark, gray and ridged. She frowns at me.  
“Your chosen one seeks you, bloodeater.”  
“Who?” I ask. Which shows how off I am. Of course it’s bloody Simon Snow, and of course he was looking for me. Is he ever not?  
“Your chosen one,” she repeats. “The boy with the sharp sword and the golden curls.”  
“They’re more like bronze.” I frown. “And he's not _my_ chosen one.”  
“More yours than mine, magician.” She twirls and begins to drift away. “If you don’t want to hear what your _bronze_ -haired seeker was doing in our woods that’s none of my affair. Though my sisters and I would appreciate it if you’d tell him to cool his jets.” She stops moving and tilts her head at me. Waiting for what, I don’t know. For me to ask about Simon? Her toes are hanging in the air just above the ground. She taps one booted foot impatiently on nothing.

I don’t say anything, but she has the patience of a typical dryad, which is not much, so the silence is short.  
“He spoke of fire and enemies but his words…” She trails off, flipping her wrist dismissively and raising her mossy eyebrows. “…did not match his actions.”  
“That’s nothing new,” I mutter.  
She begins to drift away again.  
I follow her. “Well?”

“Well what?” She stops and settles just above a decaying log.

“What were his actions?”

She tilts her head again and squints at me. “Desperate. Look around.” She gestures with her arm and for the first time since I walked into the woods I really focus on what I’m seeing. The trees have been thinned since my last visit; several smaller ones are lying on the ground and those that remain bear slash marks, as if someone came through hacking at every obstacle with a machete. Or a sword. It wasn’t like this on my most recent visit to the woods—that day last spring when I held Agatha’s hands purely to spite Simon and he got the better of me anyway—letting the Humdrum whisk him away like that. Taking my breath away with him.

The dryad is talking to me again. 

“One who hunts an enemy uses caution. One who works so impetuously,” she curls her lip in disgust at the destruction around us, “is seeking something precious.”

There’s nothing I can think of to say to that. And I’m here because I have to feed, after all. I start to walk away.

“He asked after his roommate,” she says. “His Baz.”

I turn. “His Baz? He said that?”

She shrugs, the parasol over her shoulder rising and falling.  
“Not with his words.” 

Dryads! This is why I stopped bothering with them them years ago. Even though I know they watch me when I'm in the Wood. At fifteen, confused and changing and lonely, I thought maybe they would be my friends, but they're all enigma and meddling, and protective of their precious forest. 

As if is she's read my mind, she turns her head towards me again. "Feed, dead one. Then go to your chosen one. Calm him, so he leaves our trees alone."

I snort. Calm him. As if. 

"There is a doe,” she says, “there.” She points the tip of her umbrella through the trees before floating away in the opposite direction. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz encounter each other in their room for the first time after Baz's return to Watford. Shades of Carry On, but Baz has already fed this time and is tired, so things don't go quite the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some tiny edits for you.

It’s immediately obvious that Simon has been in the room. Even if it wasn’t for the pile of books jumbled on his laptop and the Watford jacket and tie lying rumpled on his bed, I’d know. It smells like him. This room always smells like him—like ancient stone and moat water and feathers, and cheap school-issue soap and smokey magic.  
Today there’s something else lingering in the air as well. Something I’ve smelled before, but never this strongly. Not in the seven years we’ve shared our tower room. It’s a scent that reminds me of Snow at his most paranoid. About me plotting, his relationship with Agatha, and in the days leading up to summer break when I know he dreads the return to whatever desolate place he spends his summers. It’s worry. And the air is thick with it.  
Fretting about losing his golden future with Agatha again, is he? They’re obviously on the outs, if the interesting seating arrangement I observed at dinner is any indication. I open my school bag on my bed and begin taking out my books.  
This much worry over her, though? Even when I’ve been in the room with Simon tearing his hair out about their relationship, it’s never been this strong. It’s sweat, tinged with fear, and his magic, but different somehow. Brighter. Like he’s been sitting here fretting for weeks. It’s almost palpable.  
When he steps out of the bathroom in a cloud of steam a fresh blast of school soap wafts out with him, as does the smell of blood. His blood. Can’t shave without nicking himself to save his life. At least he’s only cut himself twice this time. Less than usual. I shake my head and turn back to my bag, ready to hook my lip up into a sneer.  
Thank Morgana I’ve already visited the woods. I don’t think I’d be able to take him like this otherwise, half naked, blood still oozing from his inept attempts with a razor. If I wasn’t full of blood already I wouldn’t stand a chance against his relentless warmth and good health. Although. Now that he’s taken a few steps closer, and I can watch him out of the corner of my eye, it’s easy to see he’s not looking terribly well. Thinner than normal for this far into the school year. Worse than he usually looks at the end of the summer, truth be told.  
He’s just standing there staring at me, and I can’t take it anymore.  
“What’s wrong with you?” I snarl, turning to face him.  
“What?” He seems startled, like I’ve interrupted him in the middle of something. “Nothing. I was just taking a shower. What’s wrong with _you_?”  
I want to snarl again. Snap at him that nothing’s wrong. Or that everything is and it’s all his fault. But after the last eight weeks, when all I’ve wanted in the world is to be right here, I can’t. I just don’t have it in me to keep up the fight like I know I should. I don’t snarl. Instead I sink onto my bed and put my head in my hands.  
“What’s wrong with me? I don’t know Snow. You tell me.”  
He’s still for a moment. A deer caught unaware. That thought comes unbidden and I blanche, remembering my last meal.  
He takes a step closer. “Are you ok?” He must have seen me shudder. Then he steps back like he didn’t mean to ask. “I mean… you’re…where were you? Where have you been? Why weren’t you here?” By the end of his typically eloquent tirade he’s worked himself up to a lather. He’s practically shouting.  
I lift my head and look up at him. “It’s none of your business.” My equilibrium is starting to return. Simon yelling at me is how the world works. A quick fight and we’ll have everything to rights, two enemies back in the old familiar pattern. But then I remember my conversation with the dryad. Simon was looking for me. Not just looking— _searching_. Tearing trees limb from limb to find me. _Seeking something precious_.  
“What about you?” I blurt. “What have you been up to? Out playing woodsman with your glorified machete?”  
He’s gobsmacked that I seem to know what he’s been up to while I was away. But he goes from shocked to angry in a trice. Of course. I don’t know why I expected anything different.  
“Of course I was bloody looking for you,” he says, advancing on me, chin jutting, spoiling for a battle, like always. “You were off plotting, without me… Without me even knowing where you were!” He’s covered the distance between us—not much in our small room—pushing himself into my space while he yells, as usual. But then he does something different. He sits gingerly beside me. On _my_ bed. I want to yell at him to get off; this is the only space I have anywhere that feels all mine. I also want to lean into him—I could. He’s left a space between us, but not much. I’m sure the dryad would say it’s not the kind of space you leave when you sit down next to an enemy.  
“Baz,” he says quietly. Gently. When has he even been gentle with me? I look up and his eyes are right there. Everything he’s doing is piercing my defenses more efficiently than he’s ever done with his fists or his sword.  
“Baz,” he says again. “Are you alright? You don’t look alright.”  
“You don’t look so good yourself.” I give the sneer one last attempt, but I’m warm and full and home at last, and he’s too close. I can’t prevent a tear from escaping my eye and trailing down my cheek. I close my eyes and let it fall. It’s futile to think he won’t notice. This must be what Simon felt like second year when he was finally back at Watford after whatever hell they put twelve-year-olds through in care. He fumbles in his pocket and brings out a bit of white cloth. It’s his turn to throw a handkerchief and an insult. It’s what I deserve.  
I brace myself as he thrusts it towards me, but no insult comes with it. I open my eyes, and all I see is Simon. Very close. Wiping the tear from my face with a handkerchief. He doesn’t own handkerchiefs. I pull it out of his hand and turn it over, and there it is. My monogram.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a bit of Simon's POV for a change here. Sorry to head hop after two Baz-only chapters, but it felt right.

SIMON

“This is mine,” Baz snarls, holding the handkerchief in my face. He’s right. It is. I mean, I know it is. I didn’t think this through. I just wanted… I don't know. I wanted to help. He looked so sad, so un-Baz-like. I’ve spent weeks wanting Baz back but now he’s here, and he’s not himself. I want to fix him, help him be who he was before. And now he’s snarling properly and slamming the door on his way out of the room, so, mission accomplished, I guess.

BAZ

I’m hardly out the door before the pain in my leg flairs, reminding me it’s pointless to even attempt the stairs again. I barely made it up here after hunting in the first place. I’m not going anywhere tonight. I sink down with my back against the wall where the tower curves just before the stairs, and cast **karma chameleon** to camouflage myself. I use all five karmas to be absolutely sure Snow won’t be able see me if he follows me into the hall. Not that I expect him to come after me. Although apparently he _has_ been searching for me. If that dryad is to be trusted. 

 

SIMON

I’m left standing in our room. Alone. It’s like the past two months all over again. I’ve been itching all day for a confrontation with Baz, waiting to see him up close—to have him back where I can keep an eye on him. And now it’s clear how little power I actually have, how none of this is under my control. Even my magic’s beginning to seep out of me. Where could Baz have gone? Back to wherever he spent the evening, I suppose—the catacombs, or maybe the Woods. Probably the woods; he had more of a smell of fresh air about him than dust and decay. Either way it’ll be hours before I know for sure where he is again.  
Or not.  
I don’t have to stay here waiting for him.

BAZ

I hear door to our room open with a crash and sure enough, there’s Snow. Will he never give up? He runs out, his freshly washed hair sending droplets of water flying through the air as he snaps his head to the left and then the right—my direction. It seems like he’s looking at me, but he isn’t. I know I’m well camouflaged by my spell.  
He walks towards me, which is also the towards the stairs, and stops just between the curve of the wall where I’m sitting and the top step. I could do it for real this time, reach out and give him a little shove—he wouldn’t even see it coming. But I don’t dare. Even if I actually wanted to hurt him, which I don’t, I can’t risk it. This spell backfires too easily. It’s the karma. If you want to make yourself blend into the background for a good cause, karma helps you succeed on your mission and keeps you concealed. If you use it for evil—say, for pushing your roommate down the stairs unprovoked—bright, coloured, lights appear and alert everyone to your location. They tend to illuminate you in shades of red, gold, and green.  
Snow pauses, eyes pointed in my direction. It’s uncanny. Then he scrunches his eyebrows, turns, and trots down the stairs, no doubt headed to the catacombs for some fruitless stalking.  
Once the sound of his footsteps has faded I allow myself to relax just a bit. It really seemed as though he could see me for a moment. He was looking right at me. But he kept going without a splutter of indignation or a fist to the head, so I know my cover held.  
The floor is uncomfortable, but I’m better off here than back in the room for Snow to trip over when he returns. He’s clearly spoiling for a fight. I bend my knees up so I can rest my arms on them to make a pillow for my head. I must doze off like this because suddenly there are footsteps on the stairs again and Snow is back, holding a tray carefully in both hands. He stops in front of me. Then he sets his tray down on the floor and slides down the wall until he’s sitting right next to me. On the tray there’s a pot of tea and one cup beside a plate holding a single apple and a scone.  
I’m more confident than ever that my spell is holding. He’d never have sat this close if he could see me. But why is he here at all? Instead of wandering round the grounds searching for me is he planning to have a snack here while he waits? Not a bad plan, actually, for someone as perpetually famished as Snow.  
I hold my breathe and wait for him to dig in, but he doesn’t. Instead he says “Here,” and nudges the tray towards me with his foot.


	4. Chapter 4

BAZ

“I know you like apples,” Simon says. “I’ve seen you take them from the dining hall. I hope the scone’s ok too. There weren’t many options this late.”  
He’s behaving as though he thinks there’s someone here with him. Which, unless he had a psychotic break while I was gone, he shouldn’t be doing. I’m supposed to be invisible to him. My spells always work. This spell worked. At least, I think it did. I turn to look at Simon and furrow my brow.  
As though in response, he rearranges his face into a tentative half-smile. Then he picks the apple up and holds it out in my direction.  
“Snow?” I say.  
He doesn’t jump in surprise. My heart plummets into my stomach. He can definitely see me.  
I pull out my wand, and he shifts away from me slightly, moving his free hand to his hip, ready to call his sword. He doesn’t move the hand holding the apple, though. He’s still offering it to me as though I’m a woodland creature he’s hoping to tame.  
I point my wand at the tray of food and cast **karma chameleon** again. Snow drops the apple when I cast. The moment it hits the tray it vanishes along with everything else. I look at Snow again. He hasn’t moved, but his eyes are wide and his jaw is hanging open. Mouth breather.  
“What’s that spell?” he asks. “How did you vanish everything but the scone?” He laughs once. It’s low and friendly.  
I scowl. “What do you mean, ‘everything but the scone’?” As far as I can see, it all vanished, which means my spellwork was satisfactory. Which means he shouldn’t be able to see the scone. Or me.  
“That’s all that’s left,” he says. “Just the scone.”  
“There’s nothing left, Snow. What’s the matter with you?”  
He shrugs. “I can still see it. Is everything else really gone, or just invisible?”  
“It’s camouflaged,” I say. “ _Everything_ should be camouflaged.”  
He reaches out towards the tray, hand closing on air as though he thinks he's a mime. He motions as though breaking a piece off the nothing he’s holding and pushes it towards me.  
“Open your mouth,” he says.  
“Are you kidding me?”  
“No.” He shrugs. “I can see it and you can’t. You’re hungry, right?”  
I am. Even though I did eat some food today, and feed, I still feel hollow, like I’m going to be hungry until I stop existing. I shrug. (Snow is rubbing off on me.)  
“You’re hungry,” he says.  
“I’m not letting you feed me, Snow. Are you daft?”  
“Then hold out your hand.”  
“No.” I turn my head away, but I’ve already seen the set of his jaw. He’s not planning on giving up. Sure enough I feel his hand, warm and surprisingly gentle, on my arm. He pulls it towards himself and pries my fingers open. I can feel him pressing part of the scone into my hand. When I turn to look it’s disconcerting. I can feel it, but it’s still camouflaged, so I can’t really see it.  
“There,” he says. He’s smiling, looking pleased with himself, the arse. “Now you can eat.”  
I give up. All the promises I’ve ever made to myself are no match for my exhaustion and Simon’s proximity. I turn my face to the wall so he can’t see my mouth, and take a bite. I’m chewing when I hear feet on the stairway. I freeze, my hand covering my teeth. 

_SIMON_

“Penny! What are you doing here?” I shoot a sideways glance at Baz. “You should go. Now.” I lower my voice. “Baz could report you.” I feel him stiffen beside me. Since when are we sitting so close together? I sit up straighter so my shoulder is no longer leaning into his.  
“He came back to Mummer’s House over an hour ago, Simon. He’ll be fast asleep by now.”  
“Are you kidding me?” I say incredulously. “He’s—“  
Penny cuts me off. “Simon, contrary to what you seem to believe Baz is not constantly plotting against you. You were here when he came back, weren’t you? Didn’t you see how tired he looked?”  
I shrug. I did. Obviously I did. That’s why I’m sitting here _beside Baz_ with an invisible tray of invisible food. An invisible tray of food that isn’t as invisible to me as it’s supposed to be. It occurs to me that I might also be sitting next to a Baz who isn’t as invisible to me as he’s supposed to be.  
“At any rate, it’s convenient that you’re out here. I won’t have to mess about with silencing charms.” Penny is all business. “Why _are_ you out here anyway? Did you two fight already?” She frowns in the direction of our room.  
I can’t help it. I turn to glance at Baz and he’s looking back at me, the frown of confusion I feel on my own face mirrored on his.  
“Penny?” I ask hesitantly. “You know the spell, karma chameleon?”  
“Yes.”  
“Is there some reason it wouldn’t work completely? Like some things would be camouflaged, but you’d still be able to see others?”  
Penny brightens. She loves any opportunity to explain spellwork.  
“Well Simon, it’s based on a line in the third verse, ‘ _You’re my lover, not my rival_.’ If the spell is cast on something you love, you’d still be able to see it clearly, even if other people can’t. In fact, that’s one of the reasons it’s such a brilliant spell for self-concealment. Everyone has some basic level of self-love, so it’s possible to create a situation where you can see yourself clearly, but no one else can.”  
I feel Baz tense even further, while I slump to the wall. I look at him again. I can definitely see him. And I look at the place where the tray of food was. I can definitely still see what’s left of the scone, and nothing else.  
“Why, Simon? Were you planning on using it to hide here and wait till Baz is gone in the morning? Did you confront him about where he’s been?” She puts her hands on her hips.  
My brain feels scrambled. I can’t stop thinking about Baz, visible, next to me.  
“What?” I say. “No. Erm… actually, we barely even spoke. I think I’ll head back to the room now and get some sleep. Thanks for coming to check up on me, Penny. I’ll see you in the morning.”  
She tilts her head and squints at me. Merlin I hope she doesn’t figure out there’s more here than meets her eye.  
“If you’re sure…”  
I can tell she wants to stay, hear about what she supposes is my latest run-in with Baz.  
“I’m sure, Pen. I’m fine. I just need some time… alone.” I do my best at a convincing smile for her. She casts another suspicious glance in the direction of my room before telling me to send her a bird if anything happens and turning back down the stairs.  
Once she’s gone, the silence is thick. Apparently Baz and I have our shoulders pressed together again despite my attempts to lean away. I know because I can feel him shaking. After a minute he looks at me. He’s laughing.  
“I can’t believe you can see the scone,” he chokes out. “I didn’t know it was possible to actually be in love with scones.” This sends him into another fit of giggles. Baz. Giggling. The world is turning upside down and I don’t know what to do about it. It _is_ funny, I guess, but I can’t laugh because my stomach is roiling inside of me at the other implication of Penny’s words.  
I watch Baz for a moment more. He looks different when he’s laughing. Almost happy, but still so thin—skin and bones. I nudge my shoulder into his to get his attention and say quietly, “I can see the scone, yeah. And I can see you.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon's confused. Baz might be too, but he doesn't like to show it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the slightly revised chapter 5. This means it's time to get working on Chapter 6! If you have ideas of where you think this could go, I'm all ears. I'm still in a bit of a plot quagmire.

SIMON

I can see you Baz,” I repeat, louder this time. “I don’t understand… ”  
He comes down from his laughing fit abruptly. “I don’t understand it either. Even _I_ can barely see me.”  
“Seriously?” What was it Penny said about loving yourself and a clear view of your own body?  
“Yes. Seriously, Snow.” The laughter is completely gone now. He holds his hand out in front of him and looks at it. “I fade around the edges. I thought that was just how the spell worked.” His hand drops into his lap and he tips his head back against the wall, eyes closed.  
He can’t see himself completely? Crowley. _I_ can see him, more clearly than ever—I can’t remember when we’ve been this close to each other before, without fighting. Yes, I can definitely see him, and he’s… well, he’s not bad to look at. At all.  
Gingerly, I reach out and lift his hand from where it fell in his lap. He stays absolutely still while I examine it. I’m not sure he’s even breathing. Do vampires need to breathe? It looks solid, his hand, right out to the edges. I run a finger along the side, up to the tip of his pinky. Every bit of it is clearly visible.  
“I can see you, Baz.” I repeat, quietly. He doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even move. I don’t want to let him do this, turn himself off when he’s finally back at Watford and we’re finally having a conversation. I try one more time. “You don’t fade at all for me.”  
He turns to look at me and I think I see a moment of intense vulnerability flash across his face. But his expression settles into the habitual blank mask, with a slight raise to one eyebrow before I can be certain.  
“What are you saying, Snow?”  
“What were the words to that song? What did Penny say? You’re my…” I stop when I remember. I can’t say the next word. Not to Baz. This is all very confusing, and I wish he would eat something. He’d have to stop frowning if he were eating something. Although I wouldn’t put it past him to be able to sneer perfectly and down a filet mignon at the same time.  
Just as I’m working out how to bring up the second part of that line, the “ _not my rival_ ” part, he jerks his hand out of mine—I forgot I was holding it—and stands up abruptly. There’s a clatter as he treads on the camouflaged tray and then he’s stomping off down the hall as best he can while leaning on the wall, for support it looks like. One of his legs isn't working properly. When he reaches our door he slams it without a backwards glance.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm working on Chapter 7, but in the meantime realized that I kind of dropped the ball on the whole "Simon starting to Have Feelings" thing that's been building up. I hope the tweaks I've made here fixes it. Feel free to let me know what you think in the comments.

I'm on my feet chasing after Baz before I even realize what I'm doing. When I do. Realize, that is, I go back and feel around on the floor for the tray. I try casting **now you see it** but everything except the scone remains stubbornly invisible.   
I give up on the tray for the moment. Baz will probably refuse to eat anything more anyway. When I dash into our room, Baz has shut himself into the bathroom. I stomp across the room and yank on the door handle, but it doesn’t budge, which is a good thing really, because maybe he isn’t just hiding in there. Maybe he actually needed the loo. I sit down on my bed and wait.  
When he steps out of the bathroom half an hour later I can smell his posh soap. His hair’s wet and slicked back, he’s in his pyjamas, his face is scrubbed clean and schooled into an expression of blank distain. He’s still limping though. I stand without thinking and reach out towards him. I don’t know why. We don't help each other. The food— that was just to gain his trust, and the handkerchief, well… it was his all along, wasn’t it?  
“Back off, Snow.” He stops moving and leans on the wall. I can tell he’s trying to look casual, make it seem like a calculated pose. I can also tell if that wall weren’t there, he’d be on his arse on the floor. He can barely stand. He’s glaring at me so I let it go and move on to a topic I can maybe do something about.  
“That spell, Baz. You cast it on yourself, yeah?”  
He pauses, then gives a curt nod.  
“You’re sure?”  
He rolls his eyes to the ceiling before answering. “Yes. Snow.”  
“Then we have to talk about it. That spell—“  
“We have to do nothing of the sort.” He turns and begins making his way, painfully slowly, towards his bed.  
“But Penny said—”   
He cuts me off a second time, over-enunciating every word, like he’s talking to a slow toddler. “Clearly, I cast it wrong.”   
“But you didn’t. You never get spells wrong.”  
“Just because you _excel_ at fucking up doesn’t mean you have a monopoly on it.”  
I growl in frustration. He’s trying to put me off, and he’s succeeding at it. He always does. He’s going to make it back to his bed and get up tomorrow morning pretending like none of this ever happened. Like I’m mad for thinking he cast a spell based on love, and it forced both of us to think about my feelings for him; to think about the fact that I might actually _have_ feelings for him, beyond obsessive hatred. That maybe I’ve missed him, and I’m glad he’s back, and I don’t want to be rivals anymore.  
He’s made it to his bed by now and practically fallen down onto it. Right away he turns to face the wall. It’s now or never.   
I take a step closer to him, open my mouth and blurt, “I _do_ love scones!”  
He rolls his eyes and, honestly, I do too. What even _was_ that? I can feel my opportunity slipping away.   
“They’re just food, Snow. I don’t care how boorish a pig you are at meals or how hungry you think you are. It’s just food. My spell didn’t work. End of subject.” He reaches down for the covers, to draw them up over his head, but I stop him with a hand on his arm. With his vampire hearing, I don’t think he’d miss what I’m about to say, even through his loads of blankets. But I want him to pay attention to me. I don’t want to let him pretend he hasn’t heard me.   
“I actually… I really do love them.”  
Baz snorts.  
“They’re more than just food to me. They’re one of the first things I ate here and they were so much better than anything I’d ever had before.”  
“Yes. You were a poor, deprived orphan. I get it.” He gives his blankets a tug, which doesn’t break my grip, just pulls me down on the bed so I’m sat next to him. I feel like I did when Penny was injured last winter. Sitting awkwardly next to a bundle of a person who I suspect needs help, but who doesn’t believe in weakness or emotions. I don’t know what to do, so I keep talking.  
“I have a list… of good things about Watford… that I don’t let myself think about over summers because it’s too hard. The scones are near the top. Besides being better than anything I had in care, when I realized I could have as many as I liked, day after day… that was when I knew I didn’t have to be hungry anymore, that maybe life really was going to get better for me. I know it sounds daft, but they do mean a lot to me. I’m not at all surprised I can see them through your spell.”   
Baz carefully removes his arm from my grasp. I let him, and I’m surprised at the flash of emptiness I feel.   
“Seeing the scone isn’t proof I didn’t fuck up the spell. You can obviously see me too, and you can’t possibly be trying to tell me I’m on your special list.”   
“Hardly.” I bark out a laugh. “I can’t stop myself thinking about you.”  
One of his eyebrows shoots up momentarily before lowering into a glower. In his patiently-talking-to-toddlers voice he says, “Your whole theory is bollocks. My spellwork, for once, was bollocks. You sitting on my bed is bollocks. So go away and Let. Me. Sleep. I need to be well rested enough in the morning to hex you properly.”  
He reaches for his blanket again and again I grab hold of his arm.   
“Look, I know you’re going to have a field day laughing about all of this with your friends, but… I mean it. I miss those scones when I’m not here. I miss everything when I’m not here and I missed… I… you…. “  
“Spit it out Snow,” he sighs.   
My voice is almost a whisper when I get the last words out. “I don’t think you cast the spell wrong.”  
Baz stares at the wall for half a minute. I think he’s stopped breathing again. Crowley, he must really hate me. If he could walk he’d be stalking out of here right now. I’m sure of it. Instead, he wrenches his arm out of my hand and pulls the covers up over his head.   
I stand and let my head fall into my hands. It’s late and I’m drained. This confrontation with Baz didn’t go at all how I’d planned. And I can’t tell if it went better or worse. No one got hurt, physically, which I guess is a point for Better. But I feel like I want to cry, and I think Baz maybe is. Crying. His blankets are shaking suspiciously just the tiniest bit. The pain in his leg must really be bad, and he hardly ate. Thinking about how I tried to help him and he wouldn’t let me makes me feel even worse.  
I cross to my own bed. This is the first night in months I can lie down in it for the night, maybe even sleep for a change. I should feel relieved. Relaxed. There’s no reason for me to spend the hours between dusk and dawn sweeping the woods or keeping watch from the ramparts. But I’m not relaxed, and I don’t sleep. I suppose I’m just not in the habit anymore.   
It’s near dawn when I hear him say my name. I’m not asleep, but I’m not quite awake either. My brain is fuzzy from the late hour and the circle’s it’s been running. He’s been having a nightmare, Baz has. He does this sometimes, his mouth gets fuller, he thrashes about and gets tangled in his covers, but he usually doesn’t speak, so when I hear him say, “Simon,” I think he’s awake. But only just, otherwise he’d never have said my first name.  
I don’t know if I _should_ answer, but I want to. So I do.  
“Baz?”  
He doesn’t reply. Another minute passes, he rolls over and says it again. “Simon.” It doesn’t sound angry, or biting, or condescending like when he speaks to me during the day—when he calls me Snow.  
I don’t respond this time because I don’t think he _is_ awake. I wait. He says it again, and then, _Crowley_ , he says, “Simon. Please, love.” It’s mumbled and I think I might have heard wrong, but it’s hard to say. Is this what Baz’s nightmares are about? Having to be nice to me? I pull my pillow over my head and try, fruitlessly, to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

BAZ

Simon Snow saw me, right through a spell designed to make me invisible to anyone who doesn’t love me. And he doesn’t think I cast it wrong.   
Those words out of his mouth were the last straw. I was ready for Snow to pick a fight, to get in my space, to try to make my life difficult. But he asked if I was alright. He brought me food, and then he implied, what? That he loves me? And what kills me is that he didn’t mean it that way, but for half a minute I thought he did. It was just Snow being stroppy because my spells work and his don’t. Snow being oblivious, as usual. He didn’t even have to work to find a way to hurt me as soon as I was back. He’s shite at spellwork, but twisting the dagger comes naturally.   
Last night, as soon as I was rid of him, I broke down and cried like a pixie. Out of exhaustion and frustration and disappointment and, despite all of that, relief that I’m finally here. Snow probably heard me and I don’t even care. I’ll sneer and glare and he won’t have the nerve to bring it up.   
I was still so done in this morning that his usual bull-in-the-china-shop routine failed to wake me for the first time I can remember.  
By the time I’m fully conscious, the sun is too high in the sky, though it’s somewhat difficult to tell, as the curtains are, unusually, drawn closed. The fact that he forgot to open them first thing is proof that he stopped thinking about me while I was gone. That dryad was wrong. Snow wasn’t desperately searching for me in the woods. He was probably enjoying the freedom to traipse around playing Robin Hood without fear I’d find him and mock him.   
I go slowly getting up, even though I know it will make me even later to class. Yesterday took a toll on me; my leg feels worse than it has all week and the rest of my muscles are stiff as well. Lying in bed at home, while infuriating, was admittedly easier on my body than dragging myself up and down the stairs around Watford all day.  
Classes pass slowly. Snow is oddly restrained with his staring and glaring and I can barely find the energy to rile him. By the end, I can barely stand and I’m aching to go back to our room and fall into bed, dinner be damned. But there’s a high likelihood Snow will be there and I’m not ready for him. I don’t know which I’m more afraid of; that he’ll pick a fight, or be nice to me again. I’d rather he picked a fight. I know what to do with that.   
Snow’s not in my last class of the day so as soon as it’s over, I beeline for the Woods. I go slowly over the rough ground. I’m not here to hunt. If something crosses my path, I’ll take it, but I came for the peace and quiet. It turns out it’s a good thing I didn’t come to feed; the animals are unusually skittish today. As the third small creature in as many minutes cocks its head and flees, I pull my wand out of my sleeve. If there’s something in the woods scaring them, I hope I can subdue it with a spell that doesn’t require much energy.   
The next rustle I hear is clearly not a small animal. It’s from something large, and it’s coming from behind me… and I cant’ believe I didn’t realize what was going on sooner. It’s Snow. Now that I’m concentrating, I can hear his every step and smell his smokey scent… and feel his magic. I fail to understand how he still believes he is capable of stealth. I do, unfortunately, understand why my heart lightens at the thought that he does still care enough to stalk me. I’m an utter embarrassment to the Pitch name.   
I’m half considering letting him catch me up. Maybe he’ll be nice again. Or maybe he’ll be a clueless twat. I’m about to turn round and wait to confront him when I hear voices behind me. I creep silently back to the edge of the clearing I just passed through and see that he’s talking to someone. My heart sinks again. He was here to meet someone. He wasn’t searching for me at all. Regardless, I settle in behind a thick tree to listen.

 

SIMON

I was looking out for Baz as soon as afternoon classes ended, and when he left for the woods, I followed. It’s prudent to keep an eye on him. That’s what the Mage would say. Also, he could barely walk by the end of the day yesterday and there are dangerous things in the woods. Usually Baz is one of the most dangerous things in there, but today I’m not so sure.   
So far Baz hasn’t done anything suspicious. I’ve been tailing him for a quarter of an hour and the most unusual thing he’s done is stop to rest. He never did that the whole of fifth year. Another ten minutes pass and I find I’m making plans for what I’ll do if he trips and falls, rather than what I’ll do if he notices me tailing him.  
We come to a clearing and I wait at the edge, until Baz has passed all the way through. When I see him move into the trees on the other side, I step out to follow, but I’m halted by a dryad suddenly blocking my way, the same one I talked to a week ago.  
“Your handsome bloodeater has returned, Chosen one.”  
“I know, and if you could move, I’m just—“  
“We did as you asked.”  
“What was that, now?” I crane my neck around her to see if I can still make him out through the trees. I can’t.  
“Told him you were seeking him, of course.” She twirls her umbrella and raises her eyes to the branches that reach out into the clearing.   
“That’s not— I told you to tell _me_. If you saw him.”  
She shrugs.   
“Where was he? Was he here all along? What happened to him? Why is he hurt? How can I fix it?”  
She holds up one gloved palm towards me as if to stop the questions from pouring out. It works. I stop talking.  
“Unless he was well hidden, he was not here.”  
“ _Obviously_ he was hiding.” This conversation is going just as well as the last time we had it. When she appeared so suddenly this time I called automatically for my sword. Now I stab it into the nearest tree in frustration.   
The glow of her eyes intensifies as she trains them on me. “Stop that mortal. Save your aggression for your enemy, not our forest.”  
“My enemy? You mean the Humdrum?”  
She tips her head at me. “Not the Humdrum. The thorn on your vine, the nettle to your dock leaf.”  
“The what? The thorn? D’you mean Baz?”  
She gives a clipped nod. Mushrooms sprout in her mossy hair.  
“We’re not… he’s not— he’s not a thorn. I don’t want us to be enemies any more.” I’ve been thinking this for a while now, I realize, but it feels good to say it out loud, even though I also feel like a right tit for confiding in a dryad. I slash at another tree. A dead one this time. The dryad narrows her eyes at me but doesn’t say anything. I sheathe my sword.   
Suddenly, I stumble over an exposed root and land hard on the ground. It dawns on me that she’s been drifting gently across the clearing and into the woods the whole time we’ve been talking, and I’ve been following her without even realizing.   
She floats back over to me and hovers almost right above me. It’s incredibly unnerving. “I’ll leave you two to sort it out.”  
“What?”  
She floats away between the trees without a backwards glance. Dryads!  
I push myself up off the ground and dust the mossy dirt off my trousers. I’ll have to go see Penny later, to help me mend the bit I’ve torn.   
When I look up, there he is. Baz. Leaning casually on a tree, not ten feet away, face a flat mask. A rich yellow-green light filters down through the leaves and dapples the fallen logs and leaf litter on the forest floor around him. I have the urge to walk to him, through the circle of moving light, and tell him what I just told the dryad. That I don’t want to be enemies anymore. But the light is also casting fluttering shadows across his face that make him seem etherial and even farther out of my reach than ever. What did I think I was going to get out of following him here?  
He pinches his lips into a thin line and stands up straight. When he begins walking towards me, it’s slow, deliberate. Neither of us says a word.   
The silence is creeping me out.  
“Baz—“ I begin.   
“Shhh.” He keeps walking until he’s standing three feet away, the space between our beds. He looks me up and down, then, in movement so swift I don’t have time to react, he whips his wand out of his sleeve and points it at me.   
After the quiet, his voice rings out alarmingly loud and full of magic. “ **A stitch in time**.” My pants sew themselves up where they tore in my fall. When I look back up at Baz he’s putting his wand away.   
“Er… thanks.”  
He doesn’t respond, just brushes past me and begins walking back the way we came.  
I turn to go after him but as soon as my foot hits the ground he says, “Don’t follow me.” So I don’t.  
I sit down on a log and watch my ex-enemy walk away. Because I don’t think we _are_ enemies any more. I don’t know what happened, and I’m certain we’re not friends, (Do I even want to be friends?) (Yes, I do, which is a new thought, but not as surprising a thought as it should be.) but as much as I’m in the habit of searching for the ulterior motive in everything Baz does, I don’t think it’s possible to maliciously mend someone’s trousers.


End file.
